


The Human He Sees/The God He Loves

by MorikoLaurant



Category: Shingeki no Kyojin | Attack on Titan
Genre: Implied/Referenced Incest, M/M, Unequal relationships, implied daddy issues
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-03-03
Updated: 2020-03-03
Packaged: 2021-02-22 22:20:48
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 5,412
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23001298
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MorikoLaurant/pseuds/MorikoLaurant
Summary: Zeke let Eren examine him through the Paths.And Eren wanted to know how he felt toward Zeke.
Relationships: Eren Yeager/Zeke
Comments: 5
Kudos: 73





	1. The Human He Sees

**Author's Note:**

  * A translation of [所爱之神](https://archiveofourown.org/works/18062063) by [MorikoLaurant](https://archiveofourown.org/users/MorikoLaurant/pseuds/MorikoLaurant). 



> Originally written in March, 2019 when Ch.115 came out.  
> Translated from Chinese.
> 
> I am gravely shocked by the fact that China banned AO3 but have decided to keep writing, both in my native language and English.

Zeke opened the office door at the end of the corridor of this survey corp branch and saw Eren sitting casually on the window eaves with the moonlight on him.

Zeke stood still. Covered under the shadow of night, his body was tight, partly because his clothing didn't fit. It felt as there being many things stuck in his throat, as if the dead souls dashed against the gate of the Hades. Many dead souls, or many pictures - meat flying everywhere, blue flowers quietly blooming; he watching his own intestines flowing out of his belly; the vast starry sky unfolding in front of his eyes; a girl in an old picture, and a girl playing with the sand. A bunch of dead souls of 30 people joined the chorus inside his throats, and also the scene when the kind man being tied up, waiting to be eaten, but still gave gentle and trusting smile to him. Too much. There was too much noise in this mess of symphonies, and there was a dull echo in Zeke's chest. He found himself thinking about how to express it to Eren as he opened the door. How to convey what he’d been through and how he felt. It was impossible and unnecessary. Eren probably didn’t care at all, but Zeke couldn’t help but think.

"Close the door." said Eren softly. One of his legs touched the ground steadily, and the other was propped up on the windowsill. It was not even like he was waiting for Zeke in the office, but he climbed into the room where Zeke was from the window. Eren was different from when Zeke saw him last time. He’s no longer incomplete, no longer showing any fragility or depression. He had shaved his beard and tied up his long hair to show his entire face. Without the beard Eren's face looked more like someone, someone who could make Zeke unease at any random glance.

Zeke hoped Eren would see him in the eyes. After all, his eyes were different, so different from that man Zeke hated. But before that, he will close the door as Eren ordered.

When Zeke turned around, Eren was still on the edge of the window eaves with his left elbow on his knee and a baseball in his hand. Zeke's body tightened a little. It must be because the stupid clothing. The Yeagerist soldiers who went to pick him up naturally didn't expect to bring more clothes; a soldier kindly took off his military uniform coat to him. Although his body was a size bigger than the guy and the long coat could not even cover his knees, it was much better than nothing. The starry sky of “Paths” didn't care whether he was as nude as an infant, but the secular world still cared.

But Eren didn't seem interested in his funny clothes either. He stared at the baseball as if talking to it.

"I heard you were blasted by thunder spears."

“Huh. Yeah."

“Twice."

“Yeah."

“And you were eaten by a titan."

“Yeah."

"You come out of its belly."

"... Yeah."

There was a subtle voice inside Zeke's chest, so clear even in the chaotic symphony. Look at me. It said. You are not that father after all, aren't you? The voice was like a mumble, and Zeke himself almost marvelled at its begging tune. But then he got what he wanted: Eren turned to look at him in the eyes. Eren's legs stretched out to the ground, and he got up from the window eaves. The baseball was left on the eaves.

“Then I’m glad you're still alive. It's great that you didn't leave me alone.” said Eren.

The noise in his chest suddenly disappeared. All the voices were gone. For a moment, Zeke seemed to have a tinnitus, as if he had been blinded by the feeling of peace. It felt so strange and so foreign, like a sailor who always swayed in the storm suddenly stepped on a solid, reliable land, and he's not even used to the firmness.

Carelessness in Eren’s previous moves disappeared. Eren looked at Zeke as if he was very much interested in him. His following words were still gentle:

"Before that final day arrives, we have to keep moving forward, right?"

The voice in the chest almost hummed for pleasure. Too fucking silly. But Zeke merely nodded to Eren. He suddenly wanted to smoke so badly, since it’s a good way to stop himself looking so stupid.

When Zeke searched for a cigarette inside the desk of the office, Eren looked at him with great interest. Yet he betrayed no expression at all, but words only.

“So we still have to wait a little longer before relaxation. I’m sorry.”

"I know, I know. That’s why I'm here to your wish. To our wish. All of our people will soon arrive at the day of expiation. It's great." Zeke mumbled. There's not a single cigarette in this damn pile of drawers. He gave up searching and stood up to see his half-blood brother. Eren's face overlapped with a figure lingering in his mind. Sometimes Zeke tried so hard to wave away the illusion of Grisha angrily, but most of the time he would be defeat by it. Inside, that crying kid lost in his body was still not forgiven by his father.

Doesn't matter. Doesn't matter at all. Even if he could never be saved, as long as he tried to saves others, then his own hopeless fate would reach at salvation for. Eren's face was expressionless, but Zeke was sure that he had dug out a little sadness from the indifference of Eren's eyes. Of course, it must be that way. They had suffered the same fate, so naturally they had the same sorrow. Although the sea and the high wall blocked them, the path of stars and the flow of blood had never separated them.

"Before that, it's necessary to check your condition.” said Eren. His voice was quiet, almost soft. The tone matched against this silent night.  
“What?” 

"Check your condition." Eren said clearly and innocently, as if he were talking about things as certain as arithmetic. "You have suffered a lot of strange things. Even if your body regenerates, we should make sure power functions well, so it needs to be checked."

"Oh... True. Why, should I cut myself somewhere to see if it regenerates?"

"No, let me have a look." Eren said. Eren came up and took out a pair of thin leather gloves from the pocket of his long coat and put them on his hands as he walked. The leather made a tense sound when pulled. Eren bit the glove on the tip of his index finger, head crooked, pulled a small hole on the tip of the glove, so small that it was almost invisible.  
"Such a low degree of touch should only allow me to connect you in the “Paths” but no tracing to other people. It's not bad to do a little experiment before completely releasing the power of Founding Titan, right?” asked Eren, walking around the desk toward Zeke.

He had left the baseball on the edge of the window. Zeke was surprised that he had managed to set aside some attention for the baseball: the window brim was not blocked, it was dangerously close to the window, as if to fall down with a slightest move. Zeke stared at the baseball, as people would focus on trifles when they are afraid of some coming event, as a child stared at a butterfly on the wall when the dentist approached.  
Eren patted him on the shoulder. Eren said nothing. Zeke reached out automatically to the buttons of his tight military coat. Take off the button, release arm from sleeves, then take off the clothes and put it aside. Eren waited in patience throughout the process, not interfering at all. He seemed to be staring at Zeke, but Zeke was not sure. Eren probably didn't care about human meat at all. Normal human sees meat under clothes, but Eren sees through meat towards skeletons. Zeke knew that, too. He could of course make up a dozen sexual jokes about human meat, but deep inside he always saw people as skeletons. A group of skeletons dancing happily. This was the essence of the world.  
But Eren was not a skeleton or a corpse in his eyes. Eren was wearing a pair of black trousers, an shirt and a long black hooded coat. He looked like a human. But now Eren had all his clothes on, and Zeke didn’t. The desk was high enough for Zeke to put his waist against the edge of the table. Now Eren had been out of his vision as he went and stood behind him. Zeke almost felt the touch on the top of his spine, as if a hand was just above his skin, gently touching the end of the hair, but it hadn’t ascended yet.

Then it ascended. The leather gloves touched the midpoint of Zeke's shoulder blades. The touch was cold, and incredibly gentle in power, so it almost felt itchy. Then came a larger area, it's Eren's palm. Eren didn't put his fingertip on his back. The leather was smooth, but it felt so strange when came into contact with new born skin. The hand was moving up, lightly, slowly, and Zeke had to resisted the urge to shrink his shoulders. Leather slowly changed from cold to heat. Eren put his hand on Zeke's back neck. That's the area where they hid when they became titans. Eren just put his hand over there as if to help Zeke defend against certain attack.

Then Eren pressed his fingertips against Zeke's skin.

The strength of Eren’s finger increased, and the gesture of protecting Zeke's back neck seemed to become a grip on it. Zeke subconsciously wanted to earn, but he forcesd himself to stay still. He held his arms on the table, eyes fixed on the baseball. With any slight breeze from a wrong direction, the baseball would fall. It would fall into the deep forest, into the dark and deep land. It would slide inch by inch into a rabbit hole. This kind of imagination was not good for relieving his tension; in fact, Zeke didn't know what Eren had seen or was experiencing. He wished he knew, and suddenly started to look forward Eren’s response.

Eren raised his fingertips, but did not let go of him. His hands were still pressing his back neck, and his strength became soft again.

"Is it a starry sky?” asked Zeke. A strange tremor in his stomach emerged, a kind of thrill, almost uncontrollable, that made him to shake a little. Just as before, when that father of his held up a history textbook and asked him questions, and Zeke knew exactly how to answer it in order to make that man happy. and the man, Zeke always felt the same tremor and thrill. That man would rub his hair proudly. But now Zeke was focusing on the present rather then the past. "A starry sky, a milky way, a path, right?" He asked, almost excited.

Eren answered him. Eren said, “Don't move.”

That baseball seemed to be safe on the eaves, but was it the illusion of the vision from this perspective, or was it really shaking? Don't move. Don't move. Don't move. Zeke told himself. Don't shake, it's just a little itchy. The gloves which had become very warm slid slowly on his back, down his spine, touching them inch by inch. Zeke held the dest tighter, for he was a little unsteady now.

Eren stroked every muscle in Zeke's back, as careful as a blind man felt a fragile object. Spine and scapula, dorsal muscles and lumbar fossa. Sometimes he used the fingertip to rub it carefully, and then strength of the palm increased. Eren was very quiet, just letting out a heavy breath from his nose when he touched Zeke with his fingertips. Zeke felt his back heating, as if a gaze was on his back, as focused as the gaze he gave to he the baseball. Eren’s eyes had always been cold. Eren never smiled. But people would feel themselves burn as well when deeply frostbitten.

All of a sudden Eren’s fingernails nipped into his skin through the gloves. Zeke tried to keep himself still, but the pain between sharpness and dullness made him bite his teeth. He didn't make any noise, nor did Eren. Eren quietly and continuously increased his strength, but Zeke kept his teeth clenched. He suspected that the spot Eren pinched was bleeding now. But he just tried to stabilize himself, even if there was a tremor of reflection that he couldn't control.

And the pain disappeared immediately.

Eren’s touch resumed to the gentleness as the beginning, rubbing his fingers around the place he had just pinched. There's a bit of a strange sense of wetness, as if it's really bleeding.

"Does it hurt?” asked Eren, in the same tone as when he spoke the first sentence to Zeke tonight.

"Of course it fucking hurts.” replied Zeke. It's like a shackle on his throat has been untied, like he's finally allowed to speak.

“ Then why don't you say it out?” Eren asked, seemingly with surprise.

"... I thought you were going to…"

Eren waited for him to finish, but Zeke didn't know what to say. Eren didn't take his hand off yet.

“...Forget it. Have you seen the Paths?"

"He's such a jerk, isn't he?” Eren answered him calmly. Zeke paused for a second. Eren's hand was still circling around his back.

"... Who?"

"Who else could it be. Our father of course. Grisha's such a jerk, isn't he? Brother.”

A breeze began. Wind came in through the window and hit his naked body. The hairs must have risen because of the cold, not of any other factors. The baseball seemed to be pushed inside the room a little bit, but it’s not a good sign. Instead, it foreshadowed danger; any more strength on it, it would roll out of the window.

“As I said just now, this level of contact is not enough for me to see the bigger picture of the Paths." Eren didn't finish the latter half, but Zeke understood what exactly had Eren seen. He clenched his lips, swallowed, and smothered the sudden rush of acid into his throat.  
“You don’t need to say anything, I understand. I understand all. It’s not like usual seeing things, I feel like I'm experiencing it." Eren said. Now Eren was almost whispering from near Zeke's ear, and the sound of his voice became vague, as if murmuring. Eren's gloved hand went over Zeke's waist, and he almost fell on Zeke's back. He was almost holding Zeke from behind.

Palm on Zeke's navel, Eren's fingers are spinning around the edge of his .

“It hurt so much here, right? When pierced by the thunder spear.” said Eren. Eren's voice was soft, and his tone matched the serenity of the night.

Then Eren poked the finger with the broken spot of glove into the shallow hole in Zeke’s navel, just where the thunder spear had been inserted several hours ago. Now it’s much shallower, much gentler, no pain at all, but it seemed to trigger a lightning inside Zeke’s mind. One after another, the quivering current rushed to Zeke's brain, forcing him to hold his body and breath like a fish on land. The wind became stronger. Now the sailor who set foot on the land had returned to the sea. The difference was that there was no ship and no deck to keep balance. Now Zeke seemed to stand in the sea with his feet touching the white sand on the bottom of the sea. It's only a matter of time before he was brought into the deep water by the waves. He almost forgot how to stand still.  
“Stay still” murmured Eren. So Zeke looked up at the baseball on the edge of the window eaves, like a drowning man looking up to get the last breath of air in his nose. Eren's body was warm on his back, but the evening wind was still chilly. As soon as Zeke looked up, he saw that the baseball was blown and moved again; it rolled in, then slowly rolled forward, rolled forward in a beautiful slow motion, then it slowly protruded out of the boundary; the baseball fell down in a slow motion.  
“—No!" cried out Zeke, and raised his hand as if attempting to reach the baseball. He would fall on the desk if Eren wasn’t holding hims so tight. Eren didn't look in the direction of window, and he still kept his original gesture. With his chin hanging a little over Zeke's shoulders, he circled Zeke's waist and put his fingers in his navel. Eren didn't even bother to look at the eaves.

They kept this frozen position for a while. It could be a few seconds, or a century, standing in the shape of a grotesque statue. Then Zeke saw it.

The baseball was pierced by a thin bone or crystal, like a sinner on a scaffold. The thin bone in pale colour glowed with cold light under the moon, it seemed to be growing slowly; it WAS growing slowly, little by little, rising with the pierced baseball, even like a titan rising from the earth.

Eren suddenly let go of him. Eren went to the window, reached for the baseball on the bone, and put it back in his pocket as casually as if he had just gone for a glass of water. When he turned around, Zeke found the lines of titan power under his eyes. The bone was the power of the Warhammer Titan.

“What' up?” asked Eren as if he didn't understand the look in Zeke's eyes. But although looking puzzled on the surface, Eren was inside wrapped in his usual indifference all along. His eyes seemed to be always this cold. With such calm eyes Eren went to the door and opened it. Before leaving, he said, “It’s quite interesting. We can try more contacts later.”

(See Eren’s point of view in the next chapter)


	2. The God He Loves

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *second person point of view

1\. 

You no longer hate the Beast Titan anymore. Even though your hatred was once dense enough to ignite flames. Even though Conny had once held his parents’ photos in front of you and shook, telling you that because of the evilness of the beast, his beloved would never be human again. Even though the Captain had once came from the other side of the wall, telling you that because of the tricks of the beast, his comrade could never realize his dream. You once hated the Beast titan with all you had. You were willing to stab your blades into the body of the beast without any hesitation, and also stab into the body of the man with the face of human but the nature of a beast. You would keep stabbing, until the smoke shrouded corpse, in the smell of animal hair, among the scarlet flowers in his body on you around. You once wished for this grand scene.

You can no longer feel that hatred anymore, because you no longer hate the beast titan.

You no longer hesitate towards Marley's current war chief anymore. Even though you always had to halt at his name when telling your friends about the memories you inherited. Even though you couldn’t decide whether his wish was a hoax, when his messengers came and announce his will. You knew what the war chief had done to get his current position. The same blood running in your veins resembled a few corpses he climbed. You also knew that his actions had eventually led to your existence and all your happiness and suffering now. You felt uneasy, for you're not good at dealing with complex emotions. When you woke up from a dream full with chaos and restlessness, your fingers and your harps shook as electric currents were walking through.

You no longer hesitate towards Marley's current war chief anymore, because you are strong enough that nightmares can no longer bother you.  
You no longer despise Zeke Yeager anymore. Even though you almost laughed out in anger when his tall blonde messenger conveyed his wishes to you. Even though you always kept the only eye of yours alert when you went overseas for him. The curse of creation engulfs all life. That person wanted you to go against the most essential biological instinct with him. To disobey the instinct of surviving. What puzzled you most was not how evil his wishes were, but his deep conviction that you would walk with him.

You no longer despise Zeke Yeager anymore, because when you look into his eyes for the second time, you understand things that even he himself doesn’t.

Hatred is the right feeling for people with more power than you. Hesitation is the right feeling for people with equal strength as you. Disgust is the right feeling for people who are fouler than you.

You've experienced all these emotions before, but now you've abandoned everything. As for Zeke, Zeke has not "abandoned" these feelings, because he has never held these emotions for you. He never hated you, feared you, or despised you. His feelings for you have never changed.

He loves you.

2.

When Zeke opened the door and looked up at you, you found his sight familiar. A few years ago, during your spare time among trainings, you would go to the orphanage farm of Historia to help around. There used to be a boy of eleven or so, who, like other children, came from the underground city of the capital. He used to have a father who was addicted to alcohol, and used to had scars all over his body. He used to be terrified of the approach of adults, but, Historia said to you, secretly inside, he longed for a father or a big brother.

You saw the boy not long ago. He saw you walk by and immediately gave a silent salute. You could see the white cloth band tied proudly on his left arm. You could capture a trace of hidden excitement in his greeting you. You could catch something shining in his eyes. The reverence. The dependence. The distorted love. It’s like a young child looking at their father.

And also an obedient slave looked at his master. So you hate that look, and you hate being a slave owner. This is the ultimate shadow on human being, the defect of creation: people have to disobey their idealised self. One of the things that disgusted you most was that you know perfectly how to be a slave owner.

If it’s the Yeagerist boy who opened the door, or all the other people showing such admiring eyes to you at the moment, you would feel so much disgusted even though you wouldn’t give any change on your expression. But you didn't feel that disgust when Zeke looked at you like this.

Zeke was very careful with you. His voice seemed to mumble when he spoke, and his words were always like entreaties. You've heard it in some memories of your dreams. In those memories, he was only six or seven years old. In reality, he was 29, but nothing had changed. He didn't realize what he was doing: he was looking for comfort, he was begging you. You didn't feel that disgusted.

You observed him. You did experiments. You ordered him to close the office door, and he obeyed without hesitation; you asked him about his sufferings not long ago, and he didn’t attempt to hide anything from you; you stared at him for a while, and you found that he liked you to look at him directly, because he was much more relaxed under your gaze: from standing there like a statue to being able to live again, relax and stretch. You tried what you found when you met last time. You said:

“Then I’m glad you're still alive. It's great that you didn't leave me alone.”

His conditioned reflex was still there. Tap a tiny area below the knee and the calf will spring up uncontrollably. Similar principle. If you shake the vocal cords in a certain way, a little mist will float in Zeke's eyes.

You were quite amused, and you tried again:

"Before that final day arrives, we have to keep moving forward, right?”

Conditioned reflex still held. Zeke was even relaxed enough to move. He went through half the room and searched for something behind the desk.

"So we still have to wait a little longer before relaxation. I’m sorry." You said again.

He replied to you in a vague voice, like a self-protection mechanism. He was still talking about shit of saving everyone. Yet you were not disgusted. Although usually you wouldn’t like those who were keen on self sacrifice, because those who claimed themselves selfless were always selfishly pursuing a selfless ego. But something was a little different on Zeke. You could't tell what it was by now. Maybe he meant it. Maybe it's your problem, but you always had a way to find out. You put the baseball he presented you by the window, and as you walked up to him, you bit your gloves. You already knew perfectly how to manipulate people. Back in Marley you made a boy willingly running errands for you just through mere words, and now you didn't even need to speak it out to order your brother taking off his clothes in front of you, to support yourself against the desk, and to show you an undefended back, even the fatal part of the back neck. His back was wide, covered with muscles, his body bigger than your own. There was no scratch at all, perfect, waiting for you to lash in the shadow of the night.

Was it that serious? You just had to touch him.

You touched him. Then you understood everything.

Actually you’ve already known quite a lot before. Your father's memory had become easy access for you to refer to, but it's just "knowing", not "understanding". "Knowing" Zeke's childhood might eliminate your hatred for him, dispel your fear of him, and purify your disgust for him, but left a blank in the hole. You felt something towards him, but you didn't know how to name it. Until now, you were not just “knowing” it. The Paths allowed you to peek at what your father didn't remember, and allowed you to "understand".

You saw Zeke when he was six years old. He tossed and turned in the middle of the night, too sad to fall asleep. You understood that he gradually learned to cry without making a sound or waking the adults. When he buried his head in the quilt, you could smell the salty scent of his tears. You understood his tiredness, when he was on the cross-country road, when he looked up at the father who turned back and left without a second look. You understood that his throat was choked so hard that he could barely breathe. You saw him playing catching ball with the titan scientist man. The ball in their hands was now teetering on the edge of the window. You became the third person knowing Tom Xavier’s story, which he would never predict. You knew everyone Zeke killed, and you understood how much he envied the dead. You knew that he gradually learned to play loose jokes carelessly, as you understood how many insomnia nights he spent. You’ve seen everything: meat flying everywhere, blue flowers quietly blooming; he watching his own intestines flowing out of his belly; the vast starry sky unfolding in front of his eyes; a girl in an old picture, and a girl pinching the sand. A bunch of dead souls of 30 people joined the chorus inside his throats, and also the scene when the kind man being tied up, waiting to be eaten, but still gave gentle and trusting smile to him.  
You even came to understanding that when he opened the door of this room, he was thinking about how to convey these experiences that you understood just now to you.

You never claimed yourself to be a selfless person. On the contrary, you could always freely admit that yes, I am selfish and self-centered. So you could also admit to yourself that the things you just understood were only giveaways. You didn't care about them.

Fortunately, the answer you were seeking also appeared simultaneously: finally you understood what kind of feelings you are holding for the beast titan, for the former Marley war chief, for Zeke Yeager, for your half-blood brother.

You pity him.   
The feeling like hatred, fear and disgust all have one premise, that is, they are initiated by people and produced to people. But that's not the case now. O the poor, the pathetic, suffering people. You are no longer the same person as him. You are his God now.

You touched his trembling back like a father comforting a child frightened by thunder. You hurt his tight skin like a doctor cutting open the scars of a dying patient. Both caress and pain could make him feel better, and there were other methods of the same effect. We are living in a distorted world. The world has turned him, turned Mikasa, Armin and all the others into sorrowful, depressed people. And for such people, they can only feel a little relaxed with those things that normal people feel too heavy for them— that is, hatred and love. Because disappointment and hatred can make Mikasa and Armin a little far away from suffering, so you want them to hate you; now, if to love can make Zeke feel better, then let him love.

He is a mortal. He has to love someone. If he wants your respond, just give it to him.

You saw that he wanted you to keep touching him, so you hug him around his waist. You guessed out that he liked the way you called him, so you called his brother near his ear. You knew that he felt aggrieved by the torture he suffered not long ago, so you put your finger into the place where he was penetrated. You knew that his dependence on you was growing rapidly, like that of a boy on his father, like that of a slave on his master, like that of a believer on a God. But if he really wants it, just give it to him. If Zeke wants pain, you can strike him without anger, and without hate, like a butcher, as Moses struck the rock. If Zeke wants to be controlled, you can order him not to move, not to heal himself with the titan power, and from his eyelids you shall make the waters of suffering gush forth. If Zeke wants comfort, you can kneel beside him and wipe away his sin from the wound and sorrow from eyes. But don't misunderstand. You don’t have the urge to cry with him. You give him all this because — the baseball seemed to had fallen, and Zeke didn't seem to want to see it fall, so you launched the Warhammer titan’s power to pick it up, as simple as lifting his arm— you allow him to take, you give him everything he craves, —because it’s so easy for you.

As easy as a mere blink.

You let go of Zeke. You went and took the baseball and put it in your pocket. This was a souvenir Zeke voluntarily gave you. If there’d be one day he regrets and wants to take it back, of course you will give it back to him. Similarly, if there’d be one day Zeke is tired of you, of has found someone else to save him from the pain, of course you don't care. ——But he can't leave you, because you need the titan with royal blood.

But these are all inconsequential assumptions. You looked into his eyes before you left the room, from which you had clearly understood that he loves you as a dying drowning man loves the air. Holy or secular, agape or eros, whatsoever. He loves you.

END


End file.
